


you say i have to grow up to be your lover

by nnegan13



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Dealfic, F/M, banter-flirting, little AU of what might've happened if Fede hadn't called when he did in 3.01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nnegan13/pseuds/nnegan13
Summary: “I don’t think talking to him would’ve changed his mind.”“He probably would’ve been more willing to think about it without a broken nose, though.” He snorts, and that pisses her off a little. “What are you laughing at?”“I would’ve thought you’d be glad I broke his nose for what he called Emma,” he explains and his words slip right under her skin, again.Radio feminist. Killer lipstick. Defender of women. That’s Eleonora Sava in a nutshell. Edoardo might be right, but in this case?She looks at the blackboard. “This is different.”“Why? Hm? Because it’s me?” Yes.His tone is light but she can see an underlying hurt in his eyes when she turns back to him. She doesn’t like how sincere he always sounds and how it makes her head spin, so she changes the subject. “When are you going to talk to Silvia?”





	1. i yell "finish him"

**Author's Note:**

> canon-divergence/"what if" fic around the idea that if fede hadn't called when he did in 3.01, ele and edo would've left the date as friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think talking to him would’ve changed his mind.” 
> 
> “He probably would’ve been more willing to think about it without a broken nose, though.” He snorts, and that pisses her off a little. “What are you laughing at?” 
> 
> “I would’ve thought you’d be glad I broke his nose for what he called Emma,” he explains and his words slip right under her skin, again. 
> 
> Radio feminist. Killer lipstick. Defender of women. That’s Eleonora Sava in a nutshell. Edoardo might be right, but in this case? 
> 
> She looks at the blackboard. “This is different.” 
> 
> “Why? Hm? Because it’s me?” Yes. 
> 
> His tone is light but she can see an underlying hurt in his eyes when she turns back to him. She doesn’t like how sincere he always sounds and how it makes her head spin, so she changes the subject. “When are you going to talk to Silvia?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically what it says on the tin
> 
> chapter title from "child's play" by SZA, a fucking bop go listen to it

**FRIDAY**  
**15 MARCH**  
**19:51**  
**FIUMINCINO**  

“Not to be repetitive, or anything,” Eleonora says, sliding her eyes back over to Edoardo, hunched over his knees, and pursing her lips a little. “But, if you could apologize to Silvia, again…” she stops, lips curling into her mouth, watching the way his face falls open the moment she begins to speak, and regrets letting her tongue be so loose. She’s going to promise things she isn’t sure she can do.

“For texting her again?” He sounds confused, but willing, and that’s the worst part.

“I mean, maybe not apologize, but talk to her, at least.” She turns back to the waves lapping at the dock. “Explain that you’re not interested.”

“But keep you out of it.”

She nods. “Keep me out of it.”

“Because you’re going to tell her, right?”

She cuts her gaze over to him, frowning. “About what?”

“About this.” He gestures between them and she clamps down on her heart to keep it from beating faster.

“Why would I?”

“It’s just as shitty to keep this from her as for me to use her,” he says, shrugging. “You want her to get over me? What better way than to tell her I’m interested in you?”

Eleonora’s heart starts pounding. _I’m interested in you_. “Still different, I think.”

“Whatever you say, Ele.” He hums a little, a bit of a laugh to his voice, and looks back out at the sea. Frowning, she grabs another cookie from the tin in her lap and tries not to be too furious when she bites into it. Damn him for making good points. Edoardo was much easier to hate when he was some nonsensical boy playing school-ground god. Now that she’s got a peek at the inner workings of his brain?

Her distaste of him is at risk.

She deflects from her own self: “You’ll talk to her, though?”

“Want to make another deal, or something?” His smile is wry and her fingers clench around the cookie involuntarily. She frowns, mouth opening to say something rather angry and malicious, and watches a joking backtrack cross his face before she can speak again. “No, I’m kidding.” He nods and holds his hand out for the tin. “I’ll talk to her.”

She slides it across the dock and tries not to focus on the graceful curve of his fingers as he goes about rummaging through the tin. “Good.”

Looking up, he gives her a close-lipped grin, something she can tag as _pleased_ , and the fact that he’s happy she’s happy with his agreement burrows into the back of her mind. What could that possibly mean?

She deflects from herself again, focusing on the superficial. “Speaking of deals, this one’s done, right?”

That pleased expression doesn’t leave his face. “Are you not having the greatest time?”

“He thinks himself a comedian.”

Edoardo does chuckle a little at that and shrugs before letting sincerity slip onto his face, even if it’s marred by a hint of disappointment. Surprisingly, it’s similar to how he looked when he talked about his mom— “Once we’re done tonight, we’re done.”

“And this never happened.” He gives her a pointed look, holding eye contact she somehow can’t break, until she relents. “Okay, to Silvia, maybe it happened. But you’re telling her, too.”

He puts the lid back on the cookie tin, rubs his palms down his pants, and stands, tin in hand. “This never happened, but only once we go to this gelato place down the street.”

She stares up at him, that tiny nest in her mind trying to figure out what, exactly, his game is, piecing together things he’s said tonight and all his texts while she was in England and everything they’ve ever said to one another since she ripped him to shreds in front of _il baretto_ , and keeps circling back around to the pleased expression on his face from just a minute or two ago. Eleonora nods. “Fine.”

 

—

 

 **TUESDAY**  
**19 MARCH**  
**13:37**    
**SCHOOL**

She sent the text earlier almost as soon as she saw them walk past her and the girls outside the school this morning, taking the moment in which Silvia started tittering with concern to follow her impulse and ask him to meet after classes were done.

Now, standing in the middle of an empty classroom cordoned off for school remodeling, Eleonora might regret certain actions she’d taken.

Edoardo shows up a few minutes after the bell rings, hand casually looped around the strap of his backpack like his fingers aren’t taped together, like his knuckles aren’t split a searing red, like his face isn’t various shades of purple. She swallows as he enters her space, just a step or two away. Her hand twitches at her side.

He says, “What’s up?” and it drives her crazy.

“Nothing, I just—” she lets her hand move so it doesn’t do something stupid, like touch his face, and gestures at his person, “—wanted to apologize.”

His eyebrows furrow. “For what? As far as I can remember, you weren’t the one throwing the punches.”

She bites her lip, tries not to think of the flicker of his eyes down and back up her face. Her heart pounds out of her chest and she folds her arms. “No, I know. I meant about Friday, your mom, I didn’t know.”

Silvia’s story about his mom’s illness combined with the proof of his terrible beating, bruises very fresh even two days later, set something off in her. His words from their date still have her on edge; as far as she knows, neither of them have talked to Silvia yet, but his frustratingly accurate analysis of the situation sits just under her skin and wants to come out in the form of sympathy for him.

It’s only a little infuriating.

“I wouldn’t have said those things if I had.” Her voice echoes loudly through the room despite her efforts to be quiet, and she doesn’t look away from him, even though she wants to, badly. “I’m sorry.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, reminiscent of his pleased expression from Friday, and adds itself to her collection of Edoardo-isms she has yet to understand. “Don’t worry about it.” A beat passes, he leans into the desk she’s propped against and, subsequently, more into her space, and now her heart is racing for different reasons. “Thank you, though.”

“Mm.” She looks away, but not before catching how his expression turns teasing. What is she in for, now?

“Maybe I should get beat up more often.” Eleonora narrows her eyes at her shoes. “That way, you’ll get all concerned and—”

“No.” She clicks her tongue against her teeth and glances at him. He’s kidding, again, like he was about the second deal; the fact that she can recognize that in his face, in his voice, is worrying. “Don’t joke about that.”

He moves one last time and, now, their shoulders are pressed together; the fabric of her shirt rides up when he shrugs. “Okay.”

Thinking about that one point of contact is a dangerous path, so she deflects. The reoccurrences are becoming almost as annoying as Edoardo. “Why were you even fighting, anyway?”

“Ah,” he shrugs, looking mildly put out at the reminder. “Last week, I broke one of their noses for calling Emma Covitti a slut. It might’ve pissed them off a bit.”

“A bit.”

Apprehension shades his face when he meets her eyes again, traces the quirked line of her brow with his gaze, but she can’t find a speck of guilt. Eleonora prays her own face doesn’t heat at the intensity in his expression and wonders when it became so easy to read him, if it’s easy for him to read her in turn. “Is that judgement I hear?”

“Violence begets violence.”

“So, it’s my fault?” The interesting thing is that Edoardo doesn’t sound angry, just intrigued by her answer.

“Maybe.” A muscle ticks in his jaw and she presses her lips together. “You could’ve just talked to him.”

“I don’t think talking to him would’ve changed his mind.”

“He probably would’ve been more willing to think about it without a broken nose, though.” He snorts, and that pisses her off a little. “What are you laughing at?”

“I would’ve thought you’d be glad I broke his nose for what he called Emma,” he explains and his words slip right under her skin, again.

Radio feminist. Killer lipstick. Defender of women. That’s Eleonora Sava in a nutshell. Edoardo might be right, but in this case?

She looks at the blackboard. “This is different.”

“Why? Hm? Because it’s me?” _Yes._

His tone is light but she can see an underlying hurt in his eyes when she turns back to him. She doesn’t like how sincere he always sounds and how it makes her head spin, so she changes the subject. “When are you going to talk to Silvia?”

He tilts his chin, lips twitching a little. “When are you?”

“This weekend.” She isn’t sure, actually, but it might be the best time to do it. Secluded in the mountains, with their friends around for comfort and logic, convenient places for Silvia to dump a body if it comes to murder. “We’re going to Federica’s for the break.”

“When do you leave?”

“Thursday.”

“Okay,” Edoardo nods and half-smiles at her. “I’ll talk to her before then.”

When she nods and that pleased expression returns to his face, she steps away from the desk. “Good. Uh, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.” She walks backwards toward the door, angling her head to the side a little as she watches him. He doesn’t make an effort, that she can see, to stop her from leaving and it only adds to her annoyance. And the fact that she’s annoyed about it _also_ annoys her. “See you.”

It’s open ended, not a promise, just a possibility, and Eleonora hates it a little even though it’s what she asked of him. _Once we’re done tonight, we’re done._ She waves, “See you,” and exits without a backward glance.


	2. an early evening dream, a past life love affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drops onto the cushion next to her, leaving barely any room between them, and gives her a smile as he turns to the side, bending his knee and tucking his foot under his other leg. “Believe me now?” 
> 
> She’s leaning sideways into the couch, one arm propped up on the back cushion and her face leaned into her fist. Of its own volition, her hand drifts from its position of holding up her head to play with the curls on the back of his. She winds her fingers through them without thinking, the backyard and the porch are all but empty now that the sun’s gone down, and seeing his face as bad as it is—those Giocchi Square guys do not fuck around—makes her chest smart. It’s just them, she can give herself this little tiny thing, playing with his hair, to help her feel better. He smiles a little wider as she tugs on one, tilting her head to the side and studying him. “Maybe.” 
> 
> “What? Still think this thing will go sideways?” 
> 
> “Anything’s possible,” she says, shrugging, catching the way he winces as he bites his split lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another of those word prompts, mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.
> 
> chapter title from "do you know me" by john mayer, literally one of the most calming songs in the history of ever

WEDNESDAY  
17 APRIL  
20:14  
VERANDA, SAVA’S APARTMENT 

She’s never known Edoardo Incanti to shy away from a party, so when Silvia texts in the group chat that they’re invited to Edoardo’s this weekend, Eleonora’s not even a little surprised. 

20:14, Silvia to Le Matte  
[screenshot]  
Edoardo’s this weekend? 

20:14, Federica to Le Matte  
🤠 

20:14, Eva to Le Matte  
🥂🥂

20:14, Sana to Le Matte  
💯 👅 

20:15, Eva to Le Matte  
Wait  
Isn’t he still gonna be in the hospital 

20:15, Silvia to Le Matte  
Chicco said he would be fine by Saturday  
I’ll ask tho  
Ele? 

For a moment, Eleonora stares at her screen and considers the question. Does she want to go? Does she want to find herself in Edoardo’s house for a countless time over, does she want to watch him stumble around drunk with his friends egging him into stupid decision after stupid decision, does she want to sit there worrying over him and then worrying over whether or not Silvia will catch her worrying? Does she want to sink into the cushions of his couch until everyone has disappeared and pull him on top of her—push him over, rather—and do all sorts of things to him that are most definitely not allowed given that he was beat to a pulp and should be resting instead of doing something like throwing a party? 

Honestly, yes, and Eleonora wishes she isn’t such a masochist. 

 

20:16, Eleonora to Le Matte  
Sure  
When are we going? 

Ignoring her phone as it starts buzzing again, she shifts her eyes back to the screen of her laptop, her next radio episode laid out in its little boxes, planned to the last second, and taps her fingertips on top of her keyboard, trying to get words to come out of her brain. Nothing comes for several long minutes, she types ffffff a hundred times over, probably, in the box where she should be writing about the next clothing drive, and slumps back in her chair. The apartment is quiet, Filippo gone with Dario somewhere depraved, she’s sure, and there’s nothing to distract her from the idea of Edoardo and his party. 

She pulls her phone off the table and swipes away from Le Matte into the rest of her messages, annoyed that somehow she let her thread with Edoardo become her fourth most recent message string rather than the last, and sends the text without thinking. 

 

20:24, message to Edoardo Incanti  
Are you really throwing a party this weekend? 

Eleonora stares, hard, at her phone until the two little checkmarks show up, and beats down the anticipation in her stomach. 

 

20:24, message from Edoardo Incanti  
Yes  
Are you coming? 

20:24, message to Edoardo Incanti  
Unfortunately  
But if you’re trying to kill yourself, I don’t want  
to be there as an accomplice 

20:24, message from Edoardo Incanti  
I’m not trying to kill myself 

20:25, message to Edoardo Incanti  
Throwing a rager right after you were in a fight  
so bad you wound up in the hospital?  
Sure, not trying to kill yourself at all

20:25, message from Edoardo Incanti  
Are you worried or something? 

20:25, message to Edoardo Incanti  
No 

20:25, message from Edoardo Incanti  
Bullshit  
Today goes down in the history books as the day  
Eleonora Sava admits she’s worried about me 

20:25, message to Edoardo Incanti  
Fuck off 

20:25, message from Edoardo Incanti  
It’s gonna be chill this weekend, I promise  
Swear on my life  
If it’s not, you can send me straight back to the  
hospital 

20:25, message to Edoardo Incanti  
Having a hard time believing you 

20:26, message from Edoardo Incanti  
Just say you’ll come?  
You can find out then 

Today goes down in the history books as the day Eleonora Sava admits she’s worried about me. It’s more true than she wants to admit, levels upon levels of more true than Edoardo must think, but she’s got the promise of I’m interested in you, and once we’re done, we’re done, and him doing almost anything and everything she’s ever asked of him, so there’s more than enough half-admittances of feelings to stew between the two of them. 

Swiping out of her messages and into her photos, Eleonora pulls up the ones from Fiumincino last Wednesday when Edoardo showed up at her building, Thai food, cookies, and car in hand, and drove her out to the beach after she told him her assignments were pushing her to the brink. They drank sanpellegrinos and chai he made himself and ate sweet yellow curry until she thought she was going to burst, and it was warm enough that this time, when they sat on the dock watching the sun set, that she pulled off her boots and rolled up her jeans and swung her feet over the edge to trace through the water. 

She looks at the pictures of him, face bruise free for the first time since March, grinning out at the water and hair wild, some pictures with his coat pulled up to his chin and other’s where he’s stripped to just his white t-shirt, turned into the wind and laughing. It’s an afternoon she keeps tucked away in her heart, one that she hasn’t told anyone about, not Eva, not Filippo and most definitely not Silvia, no matter how well their talk went over. 

So, he’s not a good guy because he’s using me to get to someone else? Yes. 

And that someone else is you? Yes. 

Did it work? 

Eleonora sets aside her phone and pulls her laptop back in front of her. 

 

—

 

SATURDAY  
20 APRIL  
21:41  
BACK PORCH, EDOARDO’S HOUSE 

True to his word, the party is the most mellow event she thinks she’s ever seen Edoardo at. No DJ, just a low rumble of R&B in the background, some people are dancing but it’s mostly couples grinding and making out in the middle of the living room, no large collection of hard liquor, just several tubs full of ice and beer bottles—unless Edoardo points out where the fancy stuff for mixing and cocktails is, like he has to Eva—and most people are just chilling, talking, playing quiet but joyful games of pool and sprawling on the sofas inside and out. And, for once, his house doesn’t feel like it’s overflowing with bodies. 

The exclusive invite actually seems exclusive, tonight. 

Eva leaves Eleonora on the porch to sneak back inside to the liquor cabinet and make herself something that will leave her liver wrecked, and Eleonora can’t find it in herself to follow after her, make sure she really doesn’t hurt herself. She leans into the cushion of the sofa Eva abandoned her on, pulling out her phone to text Sana or Silvia or Federica to keep an eye out when Edoardo makes his way out of the house and onto the porch. 

She spots him, a shy smile blooming on his bruised face as he starts meandering across the porch to where she sits, and she represses the urge to look around, make sure no one will see them together. Silvia knows they’re friendly—what a terrible, magnificent concept, being friends with Edoardo Incanti—and friends can talk to one another, right? 

He drops onto the cushion next to her, leaving barely any room between them, and gives her a smile as he turns to the side, bending his knee and tucking his foot under his other leg. “Believe me now?” 

She’s leaning sideways into the couch, one arm propped up on the back cushion and her face leaned into her fist. Of its own volition, her hand drifts from its position of holding up her head to play with the curls on the back of his. She winds her fingers through them without thinking, the backyard and the porch are all but empty now that the sun’s gone down, and seeing his face as bad as it is—those Giocchi Square guys do not fuck around—makes her chest smart. It’s just them, she can give herself this little tiny thing, playing with his hair, to help her feel better. He smiles a little wider as she tugs on one, tilting her head to the side and studying him. “Maybe.” 

“What? Still think this thing will go sideways?” 

“Anything’s possible,” she says, shrugging, catching the way he winces as he bites his split lip, the consequences of his hubris—fake or real, she still isn’t quite sure—effective his habits. Her eyes are drawn to his mouth, split in the corner but the rest of his lips still pink and smooth. The hand in his hair drifts again, this time tracing one finger down his face, passing lightly over the bruise on his jaw, the one below the corner of his mouth, the split in his lip, and his eyes dart over her face. 

Once her finger brushes over to his cheek, the purpling skin around his eye, the butterfly bandage above his eyebrow, he speaks, his voice is a low rumble that slips into her body, down her spine, and pools in her stomach. “Anything?” 

They’re not talking about the party, anymore. Her lips part as she thinks, finger nail drawing a half circle over and over to the side of his eye, and she watches his expression shift. Want—want stays ever present—but behind it is uncertainty, confusion, hurt, pleasure, resignation, all overshadowed and hidden, almost, by the black and blue and purple splotches on his skin,. Somehow the evidence of his beating brings them to the forefront even as it acts as a mask. 

Eleonora brushes her thumb over the split in his lip again, and then lets it move farther until she’s felt the entire, soft surface of his mouth against her skin. His mouth he uses to eat and kiss and speak and compliment her and argue with her and tease her and say, in not so many words, that he’s a little in love with her. 

Her heart breaks because she’s a little in love with him back. 

It’s highlighted in his eyes, the way his pupils dilate, how they flick, sometimes, down to her mouth like he’s thinking about kissing her, but always, always focused hers when she’s talking to him, telling him something important, and now, in the soft light of his porch, the black melts into the dark brown of his irises until she can see her reflection in his eyes. 

Can he see his in hers? 

With her thumb resting on his mouth, her fingers gentle against his face, Edoardo shifts toward her until his knee presses into her leg, his hand slips over her knee, the corners of his eyes squint with the echo of a smile, and his lip quivers under her touch like it wants to follow suit. He leans—

Mind flooding with the little, tiny, hopeful smile Silvia gave her when she said she wasn’t going to do anything with Edoardo, Eleonora’s blood cools. “We shouldn’t.”

Even so, she doesn’t pull her hand from his face, but lets it slip down to curl around the corner of his jaw, barely around the back of his neck, so her thumb rests against his pulse point. He swallows and she can feel the muscles in his throat move underneath his skin. 

“Why?” He murmurs, watching her carefully, his thumb ghosting over her tight-clad knee, large palm warm against her skin even through her clothes, and her mind has returned from whatever place it went to that allowed her to let him this close. 

She drops her hand to his chest and pushes just enough that he leans back, lips pressing together and eyes shuttering into a blank mask. There’s a difference, now, between the shades of his pupils and his irises, and she thinks it’s because he found something in her eyes that’s the opposite of what she’s doing, now. 

Wondering if he’ll ever tire of her pushing him away, accepting her own emotions but putting the feelings of others above them, Eleonora shifts and stands. After a moment, she turns to him, face drawn in resignation and disappointment. He holds her gaze for only a second before turning his head to the side. “You know.” 

He whispers, “Okay,” and lets her stalk back into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> ily all


End file.
